


The Most Beautiful Girl in the World

by Daegaer



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-05-02
Updated: 2004-05-02
Packaged: 2017-11-05 15:23:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/407983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daegaer/pseuds/Daegaer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley knows what girls like.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Most Beautiful Girl in the World

'Girls,' Crowley said, 'are overrated.'

The pretty young foreign prince sharing his supper couch looked at him with bleary suspicion and did his best to shift away without seeming too obvious about it. Crowley snorted and drank the last few gulps of wine in his goblet. He threw the dregs out on the brightly tiled floor, where they formed a letter in a script no one else could read, and poked the pretty young man's arm cheerfully.

'Stop trying to wriggle away,' he said, 's'all right. I don't have designs on you, I don't like you that way.'

'You don't?' the pretty young man said, looking offended, 'why?'

Crowley grinned. He liked to see vanity. He'd far prefer to see more wine, though, he thought and was gratified to find his royal host's sister-in-law sashay over to his side and refill his goblet from the fancy jug in her soft, plump hands. Crowley peered down the neck of her dress as she bent over and lay back, his curiosity satisfied by the pleasant view. His pretty friend held up his goblet for a refill and glared at him.

'I thought you said girls were overrated?' he muttered petulantly.

'I was just looking,' Crowley said, closing his eyes sleepily. 'And you're one to talk, you haven't taken your big, hungry eyes off her all evening.'

The young man blinked and stared into his wine, muttering something about intoxicating beauty. After a while he ostentatiously stroked Crowley's leg, but Crowley decided he wasn't in the mood to provide protective colouration.

'Hands off,' he said. 'You just want to cruelly toy with my affections, and then you'd call her name out at an inopportune moment and embarrass both of us.'

Their host's wife and her sister withdrew, having done their bit to show the guests how honoured and trusted they were. The talk turned to manly pursuits until Crowley felt his brain would roll over and die if he heard just one more mention of hunting or chariots. When enough wine had gone round, the talk turned salacious and he felt even more bored, although he added stories of seducing pretty young things when it was his turn. He was wondering if it would be entirely unforgivable to simply leave when the nearest pretty young thing scooted up the couch and breathed wine-laden breath into his face.

'Hello,' Crowley said drunkenly, thinking that maybe he wouldn't mind having his affections cruelly toyed with after all. To his disappointment the young man didn't respond to a bit of friendly groping, and Crowley lay back on the cushions wishing someone would hurry up and invent flexible straws so that he could drink without sitting up.

'I love her,' the young man said, the tragic seriousness of his declaration only slightly spoiled by the accompanying hiccoughs. 'I do, I really do, she's gorgeous.'

'She's not bad, I suppose,' Crowley said, determined to give the fellow one more chance as the ceiling swung alarmingly overhead. 'Do you want me to provide an alternate outlet for your unattainable passion?'

'Her face is as bright as the sun, her hair is like molten gold, her fingers are soft and skilled in the working of wool, her feet peep shyly from under her robe like maidens unveiling themselves, her breasts --'

'Are pink and just the right size for a nice handful,' Crowley said, and stopped at the outraged glare sent his way. 'What? So I looked -- everyone in the room got an eyeful, the way she was bending over.'

The social death that he dimly sensed would follow this remark was staved off by their host yawning hugely and clambering to his feet, his laconic brother following him off the couch they had shared.

'Gentlemen, goodnight,' the king said. 'Let us rise early for the hunt.'

Crowley made meaningless and polite goodnights as the royal brothers staggered off to their wives and bed. It seemed like a wonderful idea all of a sudden, if he could just wake up enough to move.

'I think she likes me,' the young man said later, when even the slaves had gone to bed. 'She smiled at me.'

'She smiled at everyone,' Crowley said, thinking that if he couldn't have his bed, he'd have another drink. It was a very long way over to the jugs of wine, so he just wished his goblet full again. 'She smiled at me. And bent pretty far forward.'

'I won't listen to such demeaning talk!' the young man cried.

'Suit yourself. Why don't you go and sing her praises to her husband?' Crowley said.

'He doesn't deserve her! She needs someone young, someone handsome, someone with a sense of fun to take her away from her boring existence and show her what life's like in the big city,' the young man said vehemently.

'Off you go and seduce her, then,' Crowley said, his eyes drifting shut.

'She'll be with that old man. I can't bear the thought!'

'So wait a while till you're sure everyone involved is asleep,' Crowley said. 'Why'nt you kidnap her? Girls like that sort of thing.'

'Really?' the young man said.

'Yeah, it turns 'em on. I'll cover for you,' Crowley murmured. He barely heard the fervent whispers of thanks and offers to do the same for him one day.

He woke in a puddle of stale wine under the couch, with half a honeycake stuck to his cheek. The palace was in an uproar, with everyone yelling loudly about Paris and Helen running off in the night. It was all very embarrassing and Crowley took his leave as soon as was decent. It would all blow over soon enough, he thought, young people acted like idiots all the time. A spot of compensation here, an official apology there and everything would be smoothed over fairly quickly.

As international incidents went, it wasn't that much, he thought, as he hightailed it out of Mycenae. Give it ten years, and no one would even remember who'd been involved.


End file.
